


Master of the Pit and his Angel

by LapfulofMisha



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A few references to Game of God by seperis, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dean slaps Cas once, Handcuffs, It sounds kinky but they're really adorable, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Roleplay, Teasing, ass fingering, sex dungeon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 07:44:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13829637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LapfulofMisha/pseuds/LapfulofMisha
Summary: Based onGame of Godby seperis (fourth book in theDown to Agincourt series/Read it, it is life-changing.Anyway:Here is the text this story is based on:"Dean, if you--in some way--have transmitted your desire to have me on my knees to my subconscious, you needn't worry," Cas assures him, and Dean spins around. "I perform on request."Dean fails at words. What the hell do you say to that?"I can prostrate myself as well in one hundred and thirty-five different ways," he adds in the spirit of what Dean assumes is education is never wasted. "I've never objected to role playing, in case that needs saying.""You wanna play Master of the Pit and his pet angel?" He just said that. Out loud.





	Master of the Pit and his Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seperis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seperis/gifts).



That Dean would be interested in role play was a pleasant (read: life-changing) revelation. Castiel knows that Dean is sexually adventurous, and he’s devoted more than one shower session to this fantasy, with hope that someday it might become reality. But he had no idea Dean would be willing to be – adventurous- with him this soon.

Dean, frustratingly, is wearing three layers of clothing, while slowly and thoroughly appraising Castiel’s naked body. Castiel regards Dean with open lust – no need to hide it, he knows it’s exactly what Dean wants to see.

Castiel never doubted the existence of a sex dungeon in this building. And he’s even less surprised that Dean located it. Had it not existed, Dean would surely have willed it into existence. Which is why he currently finds himself in this situation.

And he’s not sorry at all.

When his past sex partners asked him to engage in bondage, Castiel generally preferred to be in charge. It gave him an aspect of control in his chaotic human body. But he has no desire to deny Dean anything . . . and while Dean initially seemed mortified by the idea of role playing Master of the Pit and his pet angel, the fantasy (unexpectedly) started growing on him.   

Until apparently, he reached the point where he decided to _actively seek out the sex dungeon_.

Bleak gray concrete walls surround them on all sides. The only light comes from electric candelabras covered with red glass, attached to the walls at eye level every ten feet. The floor is covered with blood red shag carpet – very soft, and strangely warm, like the floor is heated underneath.

A wrought iron chair with a solid back sits in the center of the room. Handcuffs hang from the arm rests. Several kinds of swings hang in areas of the room where the ceiling isn’t mirrored. A shelf filled with toys (still in the packages, not sure how that’s possible but Castiel isn’t questioning a good thing) lines the wall next to the door. A dancer’s pole reaches floor to ceiling to the left of the iron chair. A lattice of iron bars covers one wall.

It is to these that Castiel currently finds himself attached.

Dean stands before him, fingers running lightly over the restraints that hold his arms almost brutally tight against the bars. Under Castiel’s instruction, Dean had inscribed the Enochian sigils into the cuffs that made it impossible for his true form to escape, even (if not especially) when contained within a human body. He stands mere inches from the wall, his ankles manacled to iron rings protruding from the wall near the floor.

He is completely, utterly helpless before Dean, and he loves it.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Dean asks softly.

“Of course, Dean.”

“Safeword?”

“I don’t need one.”

Castiel watches Dean’s jeans become tighter and listens to the sharp intake of breath as he licks his lips.

Dean clears his throat. “We’re not doing this without one.”

Castiel thinks for a moment before deciding. “Curious.”

“Okay then,” he says with the barest hint of a smirk. “Let’s get started.”

He tugs roughly on the restraints, all traces of the earlier gentleness gone. Dean pulls the long blade from its sheathe at his hip and lightly traces the tip down Castiel’s chest.  “You know, fantasy aside, it’s not hard to imagine the incredible power we would wield together in Hell, once I claimed you as my own,” he observes.

Dean grabs a handful of dark hair and leans down to Castiel’s face. Castiel closes his eyes and moves to kiss him, lightly touching his lips before Dean pulls away.

“I didn’t give you permission to kiss me,” Dean says mockingly.

“Then why did you -”

“Are you questioning me, Cas?”

Dean runs the tip of the knife along Castiel’s bare arms, bringing goosebumps to the surface of his skin. He taps the blade against the restraints.

“You could be magnificent,” he says. “The things I would do to you -” The green eyes darken, and Castiel doesn’t need his ability to see in almost zero light to know how much Dean is turned on by this.

“The things I’m _going_ to do to you,” he corrects himself. Unexpectedly, Dean makes a cut on his palm. He sheathes the knife and, to Castiel’s horror, dips a finger in the blood.

“Dean! What have I told you about using your blood -”

“Shhh.” He grabs Castiel’s half-hard dick and squeezes, pumping slowly. He responds with involuntary twitches, hips pushing forward as Dean writes his name with the blood on his finger onto Castiel’s very enthusiastic anatomy.

“This,” he says, “is mine.”

Inexplicably, Castiel hears himself say, “anything of mine is yours, whatever you want.”

His hips thrust and he pulls at the restraints uselessly as Dean laughs at him.

“Look at you,” Dean breathes. He drops to his knees in front of Castiel. “So beautiful.”

Cupping Castiel’s ass, Dean lowers himself and licks a stripe from the base of his balls, across the underside of his dick (so as not to disturb the fresh blood) and rakes the tip with his tongue, darting across it before taking just the head into his mouth. Castiel jerks forward to fuck Dean's mouth, and Dean withdraws, standing up in one fluid motion and slapping him hard across the face.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he hisses. “Dean, what are you -”

“Master,” Dean corrects him.

“ _What?_ ”

“You will refer to me as Master.”

Castiel glares at him. “And why would I do that?”

Dean tips his chin up to look directly in his eyes. After studying him silently for a moment, he says, “Tell me what you want.”

Castiel has felt lust in many forms, but never has he wanted anyone the way he wants Dean right now. Being kept from touching him is sweet, sweet misery.

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” he says slowly.

Dean tilts his head back and looks down his nose at him.

“Beg.”

Castiel snorts. “You want it just as much as I do,” he taunts.

Dean leans in and sucks a deep bruise onto the side of his neck. Castiel breathes in the scent of him as he squirms in an attempt to reach Dean’s body with his own. He doesn’t even care that Dean’s still clothed; he’s dying for his touch. Dean’s hands are pushing against the wall just above Castiel’s shoulders, carefully not touching him. He closes his eyes as Dean bites his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. Castiel gasps.

“Beg,” Dean says again, pulling away.

“Make me,” Castiel responds breathlessly, eyes focusing on Dean’s lips.

Dean grins, then takes off his belt and weapons and lays them carefully on the floor behind himself. He unzips his jeans, pulling his bulging penis free of the clothes. One at a time, he releases the cuffs holding Castiel’s arms to the bars. Castiel raises an eyebrow in surprise and reaches down to dig his fingers into Dean’s hips.

Narrowing his eyes, a deceptively pleasant smile crosses Dean’s lips. He grabs a fistful of dark hair in one hand and a freshly bruised shoulder in the other and shoves Castiel to his knees, before reattaching the cuffs to bars lower on the lattice and shoving Castiel’s wrists into them.   

Castiel pulls against the cuffs as Dean watches, licking his lips. The chains on his manacled ankles leave just enough room for him to lean back on his feet. Whoever created this wall obviously knew what they were doing, Castiel reflects.

His mouth aims for the cock that is mere inches from his face. Dean moves his hips and grabs himself, stroking his cock teasingly against Castiel’s cheek. Castiel turns to put his mouth on it, but Dean yanks him away by the hair (and he’s suddenly thankful for the inexplicable disappearance of his scissors. He realizes he may be developing a kink for having his hair pulled).  

“Beg,” Dean says.

Castiel, lips parted, glares at him silently.

“Close your mouth,” Dean softly demands. Castiel obeys.

Dean traces his lips with the smooth head, smearing warm pre-cum across Cas’s face.

Castiel leans forward, opening his mouth to take in Dean, but Dean steps back, laughing as Castiel reaches the limits of the restraints and moans in frustration.

“ _Beg._ ”

Castiel doesn’t answer. His eyes focus on Dean’s dick as he slowly shifts his hips back and forth, just out of his reach. The last few moments are definitely being added to his list of infinite ways Dean frustrates him.

“Close your mouth, Cas.”

Dean leans down to him, just barely brushing his lips against Castiel’s. Cas opens his mouth, tongue reaching for Dean’s, but Dean pulls back _,_ _again_ , and this is becoming ridiculous. Dean slowly licks his lips while Castiel’s eyes track every movement.

“You’re cruel,” Castiel complains, narrowing his eyes. He knows Dean is reaching the limits of his self-control. He catches the briefest flicker of – something – in Dean’s expression before he tilts Cas’s head up, stroking his thumb along his jaw.

“Beg.”

Dean’s obviously not going to relent. Fine.

“I want you in my mouth.”

“ _Beg_ ,” Dean whispers, leaning his face close enough that Castiel can feel warm breath on his skin.

“Please.”

“Please _what_ , Cas?”

Even without angel powers, even with the sigils trapping him, he’s going to find a way to rip these goddamn restraints off the wall out of sheer sexual agony. “Please fuck my mouth, Dean.”

“Dean?” he mocks. “Don’t you mean Master?”

“Please fuck my mouth, _Dean_.”

Dean laughs. He takes off his shoes and steps all the way out of his jeans. He slides out of his flannel and removes the last two shirts gracelessly (but effectively, so who cares?) Castiel watches wordlessly, tongue hungrily licking his lips. Dean cups his jaw, thumb stroking his cheek. He eases closer, lowering his balls to Castiel’s mouth. Castiel obligingly brushes his lips against them, and finally, _finally_ , Dean thrusts into his mouth.

He’s gentle at first, pushing in slowly, but Castiel sucks him down impatiently. Dean leans his hands onto Castiel’s shoulders for balance, a surprised grunt slipping from his mouth.

Castiel moves his tongue forward and back along the bottom of Dean’s cock, then suddenly sucks down tightly, squeezing him between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Dean cries out, a sound without words that tells Castiel everything. After a few moments, to Castiel’s satisfaction, Dean suddenly digs his fingers deep into his shoulders as he thrusts helplessly into Castiel’s mouth in a comfortable rhythm.

“Cas,” he breathes. “Jesus Christ, Cas.” Dean leans his head back and gasps. “Your fucking _mouth_. _Fuck_.”

Assured that Dean is lost in the moment, Castiel pulls away.

Dean cries out in shock and frustration at the loss of contact. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dean bites out, voice breaking.

“You mean _not_ doing?” Castiel asks innocently, eyebrows raised.

“Finish what you started,” Dean growls. He urgently tries to return to Castiel’s mouth, but Cas turns his head away.

This is delicious, Castiel muses.

“GodDAMNIT!” Dean yells, hips bucking, hard length jamming viciously onto Cas’s cheek. He grabs Castiel’s face with one hand and tries unsuccessfully to force his way into Castiel’s mouth. Cas abruptly drops his right shoulder and Dean loses his balance. His dick trails along Castiel’s cheek as he grabs onto a bar to regain his balance.

“What are you _doing_? Suck me off, damnit!”

“Beg,” Castiel responds.

Dean’s eyes grow wide and he stares at Castiel, mouth open, speechless, impatient and furious.

“Beg.” Castiel repeats, looking at Dean challengingly. “Beseech. Grovel. Implore. Plead.”

Dean’s entire body is frozen, expression incredulous, green eyes dark as an evergreen forest. He takes a deep breath and bites his lip.

“I’m begging, you asshole,” he says urgently. “Please.”

Hiding his grin, Castiel takes him in and sucks, hard, and Dean spills down his throat in seconds before he falls bonelessly to his knees in front of Castiel.

“I don’t like you,” Dean mumbles, resting his head on Castiel’s shoulder.

“You do. And I would appreciate you showing me how much by kissing me,” he says, looking at Dean, smug satisfaction crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Dean raises his head and stares at him for a moment, satisfied enough (at least temporarily) to close his eyes and kiss him.

He leans back onto his heels, looking Castiel over.

“You are beautiful,” he murmurs, stroking the fingers of his left hand down Castiel’s chest.

Castiel hums. The blood on his cock is beginning to itch. Time to change things up a bit.

“You’re going to release me now,” Castiel says. “Then I’m going to throw you over your _throne_ and fuck you until you scream _every last one_ of my names.”

Dean sucks in a breath, and Castiel sees and feels his apprehension. He’s about to tell Dean they can wait, there are other things they can do (for the human body offers endless possibilities) when Dean nods to himself. He reaches for his jeans on the floor and digs in the pocket for the key to the manacles; while the Enochian cuffs required only Velcro closures (Castiel suspects Dean has already memorized the sigils), the manacles were iron.

Once free, Castiel rubs the red marks on his wrists. He scoops an impatient and non-protesting Dean off the ground and carries him to the iron chair, A.K.A. throne. Castiel’s own clothes are folded neatly in a pile on the floor; near them sits the plastic bottle of lube Alicia had procured for him (from where, who knows, because Alicia).

“Get on your knees in the chair, facing the back,” Castiel instructs. He notes approvingly that Dean’s cock is definitely on board with this plan.

Dean complies, and Castiel takes in the sight of his perfect ass: smooth, taut skin, no blemishes. Dean’s hands are curled over the top of the back of the chair, his head bowed, his hair slightly mussed. His feet hang off the seat of the chair on either side of Castiel, and he finds himself fascinated by the absent-mindedly wiggling toes. Castiel’s enjoyment of the view is interrupted (of course) when Dean asks him a question (of course). Because this is Dean.

“I’m not sure I remember _all_ of your names,” Dean lies. “If I forget one, are you going to punish me?”

This is too good to pass up. In his lowest and most seductive voice, he says, “Oh yes, thoroughly. I saw a cock cage on that shelf over there. I will lock you inside it and you will be unable to touch yourself, unable to get hard, unable to masturbate.”

Castiel actually _hears_ Dean gulp.

“I will then find a plug, not too big of course, but you will wear it until I’m satisfied that you’ve _learned_. You will watch as I pleasure myself, and I will gag you so you can’t make a sound. Any names you’ve forgotten will be written across your face in my cum so you remember.”

“Jesus CHRIST, Cas,” Dean manages.

Castiel grabs Dean’s ass, kneading and squeezing the muscles. He lightly rubs the puckered hole with his thumb.

“Fuck,” Dean whispers.

“Hold that thought.” Castiel grabs the lube off the floor, then applies some liberally to the top of Dean’s ass, tracing the cool liquid slowly down the crack. Dean tenses.

“Relax, Dean,” Cas whispers. Leaning forward, he pushes his own cock between Dean’s cheeks, situating it like a hotdog in a bun. The blood spelling out Dean’s name is still prominently on display.

Dean sucks in a breath, clenching around Cas. Castiel moans in surprised pleasure as he slides slowly up and down Dean’s crack. Dean’s squeezing him tightly, then relaxing, then squeezing . . . Cas had been liberal with the Astroglide, and the combined sensations of tight pressure and warm slick skin sliding against his own . . .

He can’t even manage to utter Dean’s name; his mind completely overloads as he spills in Dean’s crack and up to his tailbone. He bows his head, ignoring the fall of bangs across his face, and closes his eyes. He carefully catalogs every last piece of sensory information gained from this moment and sears it into his brain.

“Cas -”

“Hmm -”

“You would really do this,” Dean pants unsteadily, “in front of the Pit.”

Cas blinks. Slowly, he scratches his nails along Dean’s right side, from armpit to hipbone, eliciting a very satisfying groan from Dean that he had only previously imagined during his shower sessions. He realizes Dean wants an answer and tries to remember how to speak.

“Of course,” he says slowly. “I would have you in every way imaginable. The very walls would shake in response to your pleasure.”

Castiel puts a knee on the chair next to Dean’s leg and leans closer, bending down to Dean’s ear. He nips at it, whispering, warm breath puffing against Dean’s face.

“And then, I would give myself over to you,” he continues, “to do with as you please.” Dean shivers. Castiel wraps an arm around Dean’s middle and smashes their bodies together. Dean, now with only one arm needed to balance himself, reaches down and wraps a hand around himself.

“What would you do with me, Dean?”

Castiel doesn’t expect an answer, at least not immediately; judging by the sounds Dean is making, he couldn’t put two coherent words together right now if he tried.

“You’re-” he pants, “kind of the expert here.”

Castiel pulls out of the crack of Dean’s ass and begins to poke at his hole with his thumb. He is very slick, but Castiel is careful not to penetrate. No need to rush.

“You can’t use that as an excuse Dean. Tell me.”

Cas puts his other knee on the chair, crawling on top of Dean. Dean gasps as Cas leans down to nip at his collarbone. He clears his throat and puts his hand back on the chair for balance.

“Well, I guess -mmm -I would touch you, every inch of you. There’s so much I – ah – don’t know about you, about your body. Then I would run my fingers through your hair – I’ve wanted to do that for _so long_. And then – I would trace my tongue along the inside of your thigh, up to the top where it meets the groin-”

Abruptly, Castiel is laying bonelessly on the carpet under the mirrors, Dean straddling his thighs, fingers dug into Dean’s hips. Of the few abilities he kept when he Fell, his preternatural speed has so far proven to be the most important. Or entertaining, at least.

“ _What the fuck_ , Cas.”

“Let’s start with that," he says, ignoring Dean. "Put your tongue on my thigh.” He spreads his legs and looks up at the mirrors; he’s going to enjoy every moment of watching this.

Dean stares at Cas wide-eyed before his lips slowly spread in a lazy grin. He scoots backward and leans his face down to Cas’s lap, licking a teasing stripe up the edge of his groin. Castiel watches in the ceiling’s mirror; sliding his eyes from Dean’s tousled hair, down his sensuous neck, his sweat-slick back, the curve of his ass. Dean’s tongue travels up to Castiel’s belly button, tongue lingering on the soft skin as Castiel gasps and grabs his hair. Dean smiles up at him, all teeth, and Castiel wonders how he managed to live for eons without _this,_ without knowing what it was to _feel_ this.

Cas grabs Dean under his armpits and easily pulls him up until their faces almost touch, settling his weight comfortably across his body. Dean is looking at him like nothing else exists in the world. Castiel is frozen; the power of Dean’s attention is hypnotic. If he were still an angel, he would create for them their own pocket of time, so they could forget about everything but each other. Tangling his fingers in Dean’s hair, he pulls him down for another endless kiss, finally broken when Dean sits up unexpectedly and roughly pins his shoulders to the floor.

“I told you, Angel, that I want to touch every inch of you, learn your body.” Dean’s fingers run from his shoulders down to his fingers before pulling one of Castiel’s hands into his lap. Dean traces the calluses, rubs Castiel’s palm with his thumb, runs a fingertip along the outside of each one of Castiel’s fingers. It’s oddly erotic, and Castiel offers up his other hand for the same treatment. He’s never been touched so lightly and gently without penetration; maybe not even then.

Dean’s fingers ghost up his arms, and colors appear behind Castiel’s eyes; blue and yellow pastels glowing on his skin as if created by Dean’s touch. Soundlessly, Dean continues along his shoulders, traces along his collarbone. Then both hands gently cup his neck before sliding up into his hair. Dean’s nails lightly scrape his scalp, and goosebumps cover his skin in response. Then Dean is kissing him.

After endless moments of sloppy, noisy tongue wrestling, Castiel stops. 

“I like watching you,” Castiel says softly. Ignoring the self-conscious and surprised look on Dean’s face, he continues. “Every expression, every move your muscles make, every time you twitch with pleasure. Surely, the greatest torture bestowed on demons in Hell is beholding you in your magnificence and knowing you are unattainable. Knowing that you belong to me.”

Dean’s breath catches. “ _Jesus_ , Cas.”

Castiel reaches his hands around and cups Dean’s ass. “I’m going to fuck you with my fingers, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes are dark, and Castiel is unsure of what the look on his face means.

_Let’s find out_ , he thinks. 

Slowly, his eyes never leaving Dean’s, he licks the first two fingers of his left hand, tongue lingering on the skin as Dean whimpers. He knows Dean is still slicked up from before, but Castiel likes the idea of his saliva coating Dean inside. He has very long fingers, and he knows how to put them to good use.

Reaching his hand back around to Dean’s entrance, he looks up. The mirror shows one finger carefully teasing open Dean’s hole, then pushing inside. Castiel is pleasantly surprised by Dean reactively sinking his teeth into his shoulder where it meets his neck. Cas slides his finger slowly in and out, wiggling the tip slowly, pressing deeper with the pad of his finger. He feels Dean’s reaction between his legs; their hardening cocks are pressed together between them, and the touch of warm skin combined with the pressure of their bodies pushing together is delicious. Dean’s breath catches; he licks his tongue over Cas’s collarbone before leaning up to look at him.

“Are you ready for more?” Castiel whispers in his ear, and Dean groans in response. Smiling, Cas looks back up at the mirror and watches the pad of a second finger slip in to join the first. Dean breathes in heavily, and Castiel pushes down until he finds the walnut-shaped bump of Dean’s prostate.

“ _What the holy fuck?_ ” Dean breathes. 

“Relax. This is _supposed_ to feel good.”

Squeezing Dean’s ass with his right hand, the fingers of his left begin to slowly, lightly press small circles onto his prostate. His lips find Dean’s mouth, sandwiching his lower lip, pressing softly before he gently nibbles on Dean’s tongue.

“Cas, fuck, this . . . _fuck._ ”

“Say my name, Dean.”

“Castiel. Oh god, Cas . . .”

Cas slowly, gently pushes a third finger inside.

“Say them all, Dean.”

Panting heavily, Dean responds, “I’m gonna come.”

“No. You’re not. Not until you say my names, Dean.”

“All _right_!” Dean grabs two handfuls of Castiel’s hair and pulls. Castiel’s eyes close.

“Castiel. Uh, _Cassiel._ ”

Cas scissors two of his fingers while the third continues to apply pressure to Dean’s prostate.

“Cas- son of a _bitch_!

“’Son of a bitch’, while used by Raphael and Lucifer, is not my actual name, Dean. Try again.”

He pushes his fingers further into Dean, and Dean’s release oozes onto their bodies as Dean sighs loudly. Castiel freezes.

“I told you not to come, Dean,” he says, softly but menacingly.

Dean raises his head and looks at Cas, ass clenching around the fingers still penetrating him. Cas makes no move to clean them up, simply letting the warm liquidy mess spread across their skin. Dean opens his mouth to speak, but Castiel cuts him off.

“My names, Dean. This is your last chance.”

“Castiel, Cassiel, Angel of Thursday, fuck if I know, I’m a little distracted right now!”

“Then I'll remind you.”

Castiel pulls his fingers out of Dean, who rolls off of Cas onto the warm carpet. He lifts a hand to wipe the mess off his chest, but Cas grabs him before he can.

“You don’t get to clean yourself up, Dean.” He wipes the mess off his own chest and rubs it onto Dean. “Go to your throne,” he commands.

His eyes narrow. “What are you gonna do?”

“ _Now._ ”

Dean saunters back to the iron chair as Castiel gets up from the floor. Castiel is pleased to see Dean standing next to his _throne_ , slowly regaining some composure, smirking at Cas challengingly while trying to hide the discomfort in his ass as come casually slides down his chest. Castiel almost forgets what he was doing. Almost.

“You will kneel in front of the throne, facing me,” Castiel orders.

“I’m the Master of the Pit,” Dean says in a voice that can only be described as pornographic. His head tilts back. “What does my big, scary pet Angel think he can do to me? I can tear you to pieces, shatter you before you can even-”

Castiel moves at (almost) the speed of light and shoves him to the ground one-handed. “I’ve told you before. I’m no one’s _pet_.”

Dean wets his lips and tries to stand up, but Castiel easily overpowers him. He grabs Dean’s wrist and locks it in the cuff hanging from the chair’s iron armrest. Then he grabs his other arm, yanks it behind him and does the same.

“I suppose you think I’m helpless now,” Dean says haughtily, apparently unaware that right now he is, in fact, completely at Castiel’s mercy. “I could-”

“Qafsiel,” Cas whispers softly. “Say it.”

The chains on the cuffs make a clanking sound as Dean yanks on them defiantly.

Cas raises an eyebrow at his silence. He reaches down and pinches his nipples before twisting them, holding them in place.

“Qafsiel!” Dean shouts. “ _Fuck_!”

Castiel releases his hold on him and pets his hair. Yes, excellent. Dean’s indignant glare is exactly what he’d hoped for.

“You’re such a _dick_ ,” he spits out, but his attempt at conveying anger is undermined by his voice breaking.

Castiel stares at him a few seconds, savoring the lust so clearly projected on his face; he never thought he’d see Dean look at him like this.

“Kaziel,” he says. Dean’s half hard again; his stamina’s improving, Cas notes approvingly. Watching him struggling against the cuffs trying to reach his cock is one of the most beautiful sights he’s witnessed in his many thousands of years of existence. 

“Kaziel,” Dean hisses. “Are you gonna touch me or what?” Castiel takes a few steps back and sits on the carpet, his legs spread in front of him. He slowly licks his lips, making sure he has Dean’s complete attention (he does), then leans back, reaches down and begins to fondle his own balls.

“I don’t know. I’m still not entirely convinced of your . . . commitment.”

Dean gapes, wide-eyed, as Castiel works his way up his shaft with slowly increasing intensity.

Dean looks down at the evidence of his own arousal. “How many fucking names do you actually have? You’re probably making some up right now!”

When he’s fully and totally erect, he gets close enough to Dean to nudge his cock into Dean’s mouth. Dean sucks down hard. Castiel gasps and tries to pull out, to tease, but Dean grazes his teeth warningly along Cas’s length. He doesn’t think Dean would actually bite him, but then he didn’t imagine this scenario either, so better safe than sorry.

And this isn’t exactly unpleasant.

“Cassiel,” he recites. “You will say it, Dean.”

Dean opens his mouth, and (with great difficulty and incredible self-control) Cas steps backward so Dean can speak.

“Cassiel,” he says softly.

“Louder, Dean.”

“Are you-! Fine. CASSIEL!”

“Much better.”

Cas returns to Dean’s mouth.

“Please take care of this for me.”

Dean smirks, then proceeds to obey Cas. He is still new at this, and can’t let Cas in as far as he wants, but he does a sufficient job, anyway. . . Castiel has never held back when expressing his pleasure, and his past partners seemed to enjoy hearing him as much as he enjoyed hearing them. He unselfconsciously cries out Dean’s name as he pulls out to finish, sinking to his knees to coat Dean’s cock with his release.

They stare at each other in silence for a moment.

“If you’d told me you were this much fun, I would have done this much earlier. _Messenger_ ,” Dean breathes.

Cas sits back and looks at Dean. Wordlessly he uncuffs him, then gathers him into his lap.

“Are you okay?” he asks, eyes searching Dean’s face.

“Why wouldn’t I be? That was fucking _awesome_. I do have a question, though. Where did you get the lube?”

“Alicia,” he answers immediately.

Inexplicably, Dean looks alarmed. “You didn’t tell her about – this, did you? Cause the gossip could get seriously out of hand.”

Castiel hadn’t actually thought that far…he’d been too distracted by the prospect of having a willing Dean in a sex dungeon.

He clears his throat. “Everyone has kinks, Dean. Perhaps we should talk about this? I could give you examples. Zoe, for instance-”

“Yeah, stop right there.”

Dean apparently feels a change in subject is in order, because out of nowhere he says, “We’re doing this again, Cas. I mean, look at all this stuff.” He gestures at the rest of the room. “I gotta say, I’d love to see what you can do with that pole. Do you dance?” Dean seems to warm to the idea. To Castiel’s horror, he asks, “Would you do a striptease wearing only a trenchcoat? ‘Cause there is very little I wouldn’t do to see that.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “I’ve created a monster.”

Dean’s smile lights up the room, and he realizes he’s surprisingly okay with that.


End file.
